


Any Wish Your Heart Desires

by MoonRiver



Series: Amelia [17]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom John, First Kiss, First Time, M/M, Parenthood, Sexual Content, Top Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-08-09 21:55:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7818712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonRiver/pseuds/MoonRiver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It felt good to be in the arms of someone else again.</p><p>Judging by the way Sherlock was pressing himself against John’s body, swiping his tongue across his teeth and clawing his nails into his back, his friend wanted this too.</p><p>He needed this too. </p><p>Because even self-described sociopathic consulting detectives needed to be wanted sometimes.<br/>--------------<br/>John and Sherlock's first time after Mary died and Sherlock moves in to help John raise his daughter. Part of my Amelia series and prequel to "Fate Steps In".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Any Wish Your Heart Desires

**Author's Note:**

> I've received many requests for a "first time" fic for Sherlock and John in this series, and I've finally done it! I've worked on this for some time, and I'm very happy with how it turned out. This is a prequel to my story "Fate Steps In". You can read it here http://archiveofourown.org/works/1417668

John wasn’t sure how he did it, but for the first time in three months of parenting he put his daughter Amelia to bed at eight and she actually fell right asleep. And stayed asleep! Her typical pattern had been to allow him to spend time with her and lure her to sleep, and then as soon as he placed her in her cot she cried for his attention again. Maybe it was the time they spent walking her around the park earlier that wore her out or the visit to Mrs Hudson’s that morning, but this time when he placed her in her cot she stayed asleep.

“I can’t believe she’s still out,” John said with a grin as he helped Sherlock clean off the table.

They had taken advantage of the silence by having an actual adult meal, complete with wine for Sherlock (he didn’t drink much these days, in case Amelia needed him in the middle of the night). Sherlock had cooked steaks for them, accompanied by potatoes, carrots, and bread. It was unbelievably nice to be able to sit down together and talk about real-world things without a baby getting fussy every few minutes. He loved his daughter, of course, but he hadn’t realised how much he had taken his single life for granted. No more did he have alone time or time to hang out with his mates. He was lucky to get so much as fifteen minutes to watch a bit of telly- and if he did he usually fell asleep watching it. Taking care of Amelia was _exhausting_. Even with Sherlock’s help it seemed like there was constantly something to do: one of them either always had to hold her or keep an eye on her while she was on the floor. Naturally there were multiple bottle feedings throughout the day, followed by constant diaper changing. Her scheduled seemed never ending and to make it worse she was nowhere near sleeping through the night yet, so even though she was asleep now he knew at any moment her wails would fill the house.

But for now, he and his best mate finally had time to enjoy each other’s company.

“Don’t jinx it,” Sherlock laughed as he dished the leftovers into containers.

“You know, you’re a really good cook,” John complimented. “I can’t believe you made me eat so much takeout at Baker Street.”

“Made you?” Sherlock mocked. “I’m not your keeper. You could have asked for a meal.”

Snorting, John rolled his eyes as he began loading dishes into the sink.

“Right, I had to fight just to get you to eat one meal a day. I’m sure you would have loved me asking you to cook.”

“Well now that I’m so domesticated perhaps I can cook more often,” Sherlock offered.

John took a moment to admire Sherlock’s sleek, pale form. He was still far too skinny for words, but since moving in with John he had surprisingly taken full advantage of having a stocked kitchen. He was pleased to see Sherlock had gained a half a stone in the past few months, and quite frankly his friend just seemed all around healthier than ever.

“Yeah, well, domestic life looks good on you,” John said quietly, under his breath.

His cheeks immediately reddened when Sherlock looked at him with a bemused expression his face, and he was embarrassed that he had actually said that out loud.

Sherlock really did look good though. His whole personality had actually changed- in a good way- since moving him with him and Amelia. He was far calmer now and less likely to go off the rails, even on the most stressful baby days. In fact he actually found Sherlock to often be the voice of reason, calming him down when he panicked about the baby coughing or her sleeping habits. Sherlock turned the focus he used to give to cases to the baby, and much like he had done with the wedding he was obsessive about making sure he could help give Amelia everything she needed.

He had been, in a word, amazing.

And now, Sherlock Holmes…Sherlock Holmes…was doing the washing up.

John couldn’t help but to snicker.

“What?” Sherlock demanded as he began assisting with loading the dishwasher.

“I’ve just never seen you do the dishes before,” John admitted.

At Baker Street if John didn’t come around to collect the various tea cups and glasses lying around he was certain they would stay there for weeks.

“I know how to load a dishwasher, John, I’m not inept,” Sherlock snapped.

One thing he had noticed during Sherlock’s stay with him was that if he ever implied that Sherlock wouldn’t be able to do something he would immediately protest in a child-like manner and do whatever it took to prove him wrong.

“I know,” John replied, “I’m just more surprised that you’re volunteering to do it, that’s all.”

Guilt flashed over Sherlock’s face.

“Yeah, well you are letting me stay here for free,” Sherlock mumbled.

John’s eyebrows shot up. In all the time he had known Sherlock he knew his mate had no problem with being, well, a moocher. He knew very well that Mrs Hudson gave him a major discount on the Baker Street flat and that he paid the remaining balance with money he still had from his trust fund. He had no problem stealing his brother’s credit card or letting Mrs Hudson buy groceries for him. When John asked Sherlock to move in it was understood that he was there to help care for Amelia. John wanted him there.

“Hey,” John said, grabbing a few bowls to help Sherlock load faster. “You know I don’t expect you to help pay the bills. Hell, you’re not even working cases right now and that’s my fault.”

There was a look of hesitation in Sherlock’s eyes, and John knew he missed working cases more than he let on.

“You know I still have a week before I have to go back to work,” John pointed out. “You should phone Lestrade and see if he has any cases available.”

While Sherlock’s eyes lit up at the suggestion his face almost immediately fell.

“It wouldn’t be half as fun without you,” Sherlock replied calmly.

Their eyes met, and John found himself surprised, flattered. While he was with Mary he and Sherlock went months without seeing each other, and during that time Sherlock didn’t hesitate to keep taking cases. He didn’t realise that Sherlock, well, missed working with him.

“Yeah, I miss it too,” he admitted. For a few long moments Sherlock finished loading the dishwasher while John hand-washed the pots and skillets. It wasn’t the first time in the past few months that he had reminisced about solving cases with Sherlock; those days were beginning to feel a bit like his school days- he was beginning to realise he would never have them back. “I’m beginning to worry those days might be behind me.”

Once again their eyes met. Sherlock closed the dishwasher and swallowed nervously, as though he didn’t feel brave enough to confess what he was really thinking.

“I knew this was coming,” Sherlock finally breathed; he forced a pitiful smile. “You have a new life now, John. We can’t have you out there risking getting hurt. You’ll be a full time doctor and a full time parent soon.”

“And you a full-time manny,” John teased.

Sherlock’s face froze; he was clearly unfamiliar with the term, and John couldn’t help but to burst out laughing.

“That’s what they call men who are nannies,” John explained, grinning from ear to ear.

His friend looked like he couldn’t decide which he wanted to do first- slap him or melt into the floor. Nevertheless, Sherlock collected himself and went on:

“Regardless, our first priority now is obviously Amelia. Yes I’ll miss the cases and the bizarre clients and picking fun at Lestrade’s team, but if I were being completely honest, John…I wouldn’t trade being here with you to help raise your daughter for the world.”

John’s heart skipped a beat and his mouth fell open and hung there lamely. There was a sort of fluttering feeling in his chest, heat rose throughout his body, and the moment he realised what was happening to him he had no time to process it. His body skipped right to the next step.

“Sherlock,” he breathed, reaching out to touch his friend’s arm with a still-damp hand.

His best friend was dedicating his life to him and that…that went beyond friendship, didn’t it? Maybe he was wrong about Sherlock all along. Maybe he had been wrong about himself all along.

Before he had time to think, before he realised what he was doing, he leaned up and pressed his lips against Sherlock’s. His friend stiffened under his touch, and for a full long moment he didn’t even kiss back as John foolishly attempted to snog him.

Clearly Sherlock was in shock.

Clearly he would be because John was his friend and, as far as Sherlock knew, very much not gay.

All John knew is the way he felt about Sherlock could only be described as one emotion: love. Not that he would dare admit that just yet; no, he was certain he would send Sherlock into a comatose state if _this_ was how he reacted to a kiss.

And this was all okay, wasn’t it? Who cared if Sherlock was a man and not a woman? Here was someone totally loyal to him, willing to offer him the world. Here was someone who had always been there for him (even when it seemed he had betrayed him), who would do anything for him. Here was someone who seemed to have no idea how to talk to people, how to express themselves, how to feel- except when he was around John.

And here was someone who John felt totally comfortable around, who he could trust with even his deepest secrets and fears.

After what felt like ten minutes (and in reality was about thirty seconds), John pulled away, breathless and red with embarrassment.

“John,” Sherlock whispered, looking a bit paler than usual.

“Don’t,” John pleaded. “Don’t just…just let me.”

Drawing in a deep breath, he leaned up again to kiss Sherlock more gently this time. He placed his hands on Sherlock’s forearms, gripping the fabric of his purple collared shirt.

And this time, this time Sherlock drew in his own shaky breath and kissed back.

It was glorious.

It felt right.

It felt…strange.

But it felt right.

It felt like…finally! Finally everything was coming together.

Or it could be a big mistake.

Either way, it felt _good_.

And he needed this. He needed to throw caution to the wind, to feel the adrenaline pumping through his veins again. One of his hands slipped over to Sherlock’s chest, up to his neck, and he could feel his friend’s heart pounding. They broke apart for air for a quick moment and suddenly Sherlock took over, slipping his tongue into John’s mouth. The action was totally unexpected but god what a surprise. John let out a soft moan; Sherlock’s arms crawled up his back. He shuddered.

It felt good to be in the arms of someone else again.

Judging by the way Sherlock was pressing himself against John’s body, swiping his tongue across his teeth and clawing his nails into his back, his friend wanted this too.

He _needed_ this too.

Because even self-described sociopathic consulting detectives needed to be wanted sometimes.

“Oh fuck,” John breathed when they broke apart again.

Sherlock didn’t reply. There wasn’t time for real words or complete sentences.

He backed Sherlock up against the fridge, enjoying the thud of his skinny frame against the stainless steel. His heart was pounding, his own hands roaming Sherlock’s body and beginning to undo buttons. He didn’t allow himself time to process what was happening, what they were doing, what he was doing.

His friend- his lover- shuddered in his arms as John shrugged off his shirt. It was a bit cool in the kitchen, but he knew his bedroom was warmer.

And the thought of being cuddled up against Sherlock, in his bed, made his body tense up.

“Want to take this to my room?” John asked softly, his eyes lifting up to meet Sherlock’s.

When he saw the anticipation, the excitement, the hunger, in Sherlock’s eyes he was both surprised and amused. Sherlock, Mr Married-To-My-Workhimself, was going completely mental over him.

John was smiling, _smiling_ , as he threw open his door and dragged Sherlock inside by his hand. The smallest of smiles slipped across Sherlock’s face as their lips joined together again. They multitasked, pulling off shoes and clothes until they were both in their pants as their lips danced together. Drawing in a deep breath, he looked up to Sherlock one last time, meeting his eyes, silently asking _is this oka_ y?

Sherlock nodded.

At that point Sherlock seemed to take over, pushing him onto the mattress and climbed over him. His breathing was becoming erratic; he drew in another deep breath, trying to calm himself. This was sex. He had had sex dozens of times before. He could do this, it was just sex.

…just sex with a man.

…just sex with his best mate.

Deep down he knew this wasn’t _just_ sex. _This_ changed everything, and judging by the wild panic in his friend’s eyes he knew it too.

“We can take this slow,” John said softly. “We don’t need to rush any-"

Sherlock captured his mouth in a wet, desperate, kiss, and he supposed that was his way of saying _no, I want this_.

He would have never guessed that Sherlock Holmes would be such a good kisser. He really should have known, since Sherlock seemed to excel at everything, but kissing was just not something he would have thought the consulting detective would be an expert at. Sherlock’s tongue whisked across his teeth, danced with his own tongue, and finally dashed out of his mouth and began to lick its way up his neck.

“Oh Christ,” John gasped, wiggling under the strength of Sherlock’s body in surprise.

A hand ran down his chest, as though to soothe him, as Sherlock began to place a trail of kisses up his neck and across his jaw. Suddenly he felt the weight of Sherlock’s body against his- specifically the bulge in Sherlock’s pants against his own. They were both blissfully hard, and it was obvious this had already escalated too quickly and they wouldn’t last long. His mind began to race in panic- should they have talked first? Shouldn’t they be considering what they wanted, in regards to a relationship? Or if they even wanted a relationship? At the very least, John realised, they needed to make sure they were being safe.

“Sherlock,” John breathed, holding a hand up to his mate’s warm chest to stop him. His partner looked positively wanton over him, breathing hard, sweating, hair already a mess. “Are you clean?”

His friend’s face fell, and John immediately regretted what he asked. He didn’t really think Sherlock was using but if he was- or if he had had other partners- didn’t John deserve to know before he let him take him? He knew how easy it was to get caught up in the heat of the moment and forget to be smart about sex, and with a daughter now he just couldn’t afford that.

“John if you can’t trust that I’m not shooting up while living under your roof and helping to care for your daughter than perhaps we shouldn’t be doing this.”

The reply was cold and emotionless. Sherlock began to shift positions, making to get off of him, but John reached up to stop him.

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” John offered.

He pulled Sherlock back toward him so he could kiss him.

“I’m sorry, of course you have the right to ask. I’m clean,” Sherlock whispered when they broke apart for air. “I swear I’m clean, and I haven’t been with someone in…quite some time.”

John couldn’t help but to smile. He didn’t really think all the talk of Sherlock being a virgin was true, but he admitted to himself it was a relief to know that Sherlock hadn’t been secretly going off having sex without telling him about his relationships. And he apparently really hadn’t done anything serious with Janine.

“But you have done this before?” John asked, just to make sure. “And with a man?”

Sherlock grinned and nodded.

“Oh yes,” he replied with a sly grin.

As though to prove his point, he reached down to palm John’s clothed-covered cock as he swooped down for another kiss. John moaned helplessly, in disbelief that even the friction of a hand brushing over his pants could probably get him off right then and there.

But as Sherlock began to tug at the waistband of his pants to pull them off, he knew he had to come clean before they got too far. Reaching up, he once again placed a hand on Sherlock’s chest to stop him.

“Sherlock, I…” he swallowed nervously, and he could feel his checks becoming hot. “I’ve never done this with a man before.”

A flash of surprise crossed Sherlock’s eyes, followed quickly by a single bemused giggled.

“So you really aren’t gay?” Sherlock teased.

John couldn’t help but to let out a laugh.

“Well I suppose that’s changed now,” he admitted, running his hands up and down Sherlock’s sides. He loved how his partner shivered under his touch. “But this is really is my first time with a bloke.”

Sherlock swallowed, and John could tell he was anxious at the thought of being John’s first male lover.

“We’ll take it slow,” Sherlock promised quietly. “And we don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.”

But John didn’t want to take it slow or play it safe. God only knew if they would ever be brave enough to do this again- or if they would even find the time! But he knew Sherlock was also referring to losing Mary. Truthfully he did still miss her and grieved for her, but he also knew there was nothing he could do to bring her back. All he wanted right now was to not feel so alone.

“No, I want you,” he pleaded. “ _All_ of you.”

With one more nervous smile Sherlock nodded and cupped John’s cheek with his hand.

“Okay,” he breathed, “but if it hurts-“

“I know,” John smiled.

Reaching over, he opened up his bedside drawer and pulled out lube and a condom. Another shaky breath escaped him; he could feel his heart pounding in his chest as Sherlock slipped his pants off him. He almost laughed when Sherlock’s eyes widened at the sight of his cock. This was, after all, the man who had waltzed into Buckingham Palace wearing nothing but a sheet. He had never known Sherlock to be body conscious or even slightly aware of the physical sexual appeal of others. Well, except maybe The Woman, although Sherlock hadn’t admitted his feelings out loud. Yet here he was, practically drooling over John’s cock.

And John was rather proud.

“Like what you see?” He teased.

He was surprised when a grin spread across Sherlock’s face and he replied:

“Oh yes, very much.”

Without warning Sherlock’s hand wrapped around his cock and John gasped, throwing his head back against his pillow. It was strange, at first, feeling those long musicians’ hands roam up and down his shaft, but as he closed his eyes and shifted his bare hips against the duvet he let himself relax into it.

The room fell silent, and John felt himself grateful for it. All he wanted to concentrate on was the feeling of Sherlock’s hands running over his shaft, his thumb rubbing against the head of his cock, his hand jumping down to his balls. He groaned and shifted again, thrusting his hips up ever so gently. While he would someday like to see what the full Sherlock Holmes hand job experience was like, it wasn’t exactly what he had in mind for their first time. To send Sherlock the message he grabbed the lube and poured some onto his own fingers. Lifting his hips, he reached down to tease at his own arsehole. He and Sherlock groaned in unison.

“You’ve really never been with a man?” Sherlock blurted out. “Not even in the army?”

John let out a laugh before adjusting his hips so he could push his finger in further.

“No, Sherlock!” He grinned. “I busy, you know, saving people.”

“Mmm, whatever you say, doctor,” he teased. “In that case we need to see what you like.”

He took the lube from John and stole a kiss while he was at it. Batting John’s hand out of the way, Sherlock lubed up his fingers before resuming the teasing himself. Sherlock leaned forward, allowing his lips to brush against one of John’s nipples, resulting in another soft moan from the doctor.

As his tongue circled around the nipple he snuck in a second finger and John thrust his hips up again, desperate for friction. He reached down to touch his own cock, which was now leaking slightly with pre-cum.

“Sherlock!” He called out, his back arching off the bed as Sherlock’s fingers suddenly brushed his prostate. Closing his eyes tightly, he gasped at the new sensation. He knew this was supposed to feel good but _fuck_ that felt amazing. “Oh god.”

Without thinking his hands grasped Sherlock’s forearms, squeezing tightly. Sherlock added another finger as his lips moved to his other nipple. Christ if just his fingers felt this good he couldn’t even imagine…

His arse slid against the duvet; his body was already drenched with sweat. He knew he wouldn’t last long, knew he only had so much longer before he would burst.

“I’m ready,” he gasped. “Please Sherlock, I’m ready.”

But to his shock, Sherlock shook his head.

“Trust me,” Sherlock whispered, planting a kiss to the center of John’s chest. His eyes trailed up, and John couldn’t help but to run his hands through those delicious locks. “It’ll be a bit uncomfortable at first. It’ll hurt less if you let me do this properly.”

And then he licked- _licked!_ -down John’s chest and fuck how did he never know Sherlock Holmes was this good in bed?! Those long fingers of his free hand grasped his hips, digging into his skin to make marks that would surely be there in the morning. He scissored his fingers and thrust them in and out, opening him up more. John pinched the tip of his cock, desperate to not come too soon, but he smiled when he noticed Sherlock reach down and brush his hand against the bulge in his own pants.

“Take them off,” John ordered, nodding toward Sherlock’s pants.

His mate actually blushed, but he obeyed quickly. John bit his lip, knowing he was at risk of saying something incredibly stupid the moment he saw Sherlock’s cock, and at the side of the thick, long, dick that dangled before him he knew he made a good call. _Fuck_ was he gorgeous.

Sherlock must have caught him staring because he was grinning, and John was certain that he himself was blushing. His friend reached down, rubbing his hand up and down his own cock. John ran his hands up and down Sherlock’s back as the other man’s eyes fell close, momentarily letting himself relish in having some kind of relief.

But John was desperate, and he couldn’t wait any longer.

“Sherlock… _please!_ ”

He wasn’t usually one to beg in bed- he usually liked to be the one _causing_ the begging- but he couldn’t help it. He needed Sherlock, needed to feel him inside of him.

“Okay,” Sherlock breathed at last. He scooted up, lining his cock up to John’s arse. He gave his shaft a couple of long stroke and John shuddered in anticipation. “It will hurt at first, but tell me if it hurts too much.”

John nodded frantically and closed his eyes. He knew from his medical background what happened next but he still couldn’t believe this was actually about to happen to him. While part of him wanted to watch a bigger part knew it would hurt worse if he was watching and could see what was happening to him. It would be better if he could focus on the darkness and force himself to relax so he closed his eyes tightly and grabbed hold of Sherlock’s hips as his friend slowly pressed inside of him. He gasped loudly when he first felt the head of Sherlock’s cock against his arse for the first time. The pressure was intense, but the adrenaline rush he felt because of it was blissful.

But just as Sherlock was barely inside he pulled out; John peered his eyes open in time to see him pump his own cock a few more times before lining up again. This time Sherlock let out a sexual groan that made John shiver, and he felt his lover go a bit weak beneath his hands. John touched him then, letting his hand run across the bullet wound that was still prominent against Sherlock’s chest.

“Don’t,” Sherlock whispered, as though reading his mind, “don’t go there John. Not now. Just let us enjoy this.”

Sherlock began to thrust, and upon feeling his best mate’s cock scrape against his walls he was suddenly able to focus again.

“Oh Christ!” John cried out as Sherlock suddenly hit his prostate. He grasped Sherlock’s arms again, squeezing hard. “Fuck. Fuck Sherlock. _Fuck!_ ”

Sherlock only panted in response, his mouth hanging open as he pushed himself forward, thrusting madly against his prostate. John reached down to touch himself and began pumping his cock in time with Sherlock’s thrusts. The bed creaked and their moans filled the silence of the room. He could have never imagined how good this would feel, feeling someone else inside him- feeling Sherlock inside him. Sherlock, who he would take a bullet for. Sherlock, who he had _killed_ for.

“Oh fuck,” Sherlock suddenly whispered, and John realised it was the first time he had ever heard him swear. “Oh god John. I’m going to come.”

John opened his eyes, desperate to see his lover’s face as they came. Their eyes met, and Sherlock’s were so full of want, need, _lust_ that John realised he had fantasied about this far longer than John had. A powerful groan escaped his partner’s mouth as he came and Sherlock immediately fell forward, panting against John’s shoulder as he came back down to earth.

“John,” Sherlock whispered, “come for me.”

It was absolutely beautiful, hearing those words from him. Sherlock peeled himself off of John’s body and wrapped his hands around John’s cock once again. It only took a few pumps before John was coming, shooting his load over his and Sherlock’s stomachs.

“Oh god, Sherlock!” He exclaimed as he reached his climax and threw his head back against his pillow.

Their lips immediately found each other’s once again, but they were so breathless their sloppy kiss didn’t last very long. Sherlock collapsed on the bed beside him, and for a long moment they both just gasped for breath.

Then the sounds of his daughter’s cries filled the house and guilt immediately washed over him.

“Shit,” he muttered, realising in shame that his shouting must have woken her up. Sherlock handed him the box of tissues from the bedside table, and John frantically cleaned himself up before reaching for his pants, shirt, and hand sanitizer.

“John,” Sherlock called sympathetically, clearly sensing his guilt.

John just shook his head.

“I’ll look after her,” he insisted. “You stay here and…shower, or something.”

He glanced over to his lover, who looked thoroughly debouched with his hair (which was getting too long again, he realised) all tossed about, his skin glistening with sweat and his neck and chest still slightly red. Sherlock reached out with a hand and John allowed it, letting their hands connect together in mid-air for a long, silent, moment. They didn’t need any words, he knew what Sherlock meant to say to him: this wasn’t a mistake. And John appreciated that. Because as guilty as he felt for waking his daughter up, he certainly hoped what happened between them wasn’t a mistake.

Letting go of Sherlock, he wiped his arm across his face and let out a deep sigh. He left the room, closing the door behind him and took a moment to just stand there in the hall…and break down.

He had just had sex with his best friend, only three months after losing his wife. And hell he had barely thought of how wrong that was while he was doing it. All he had been thinking of was himself: his own wants and needs.

What would people think, seeing him and Sherlock together when they were supposed to still be grieving? Of course, no one but them and Mycroft knew the extent as to how much Mary had hurt and betrayed him, and even toward the end he couldn't measure how much true love still existed between he and his wife.

But still.

They had a daughter together.

And here he was, sleeping with another man.

He was a terrible person.

A terrible father.

He couldn't be thinking about himself now. He should only be thinking about Amelia and what was best for her, and obviously getting into some confusing relationship with his best friend that could ruin things between them forever if anything went wrong wasn't what was best for her. If things didn't work out between him, who would he have to help him with Amelia?

And how selfish was it that that's what he was worried about? Having Sherlock's help.

He knew Sherlock could probably hear him sobbing but he didn't care. Drawing in a deep breath, he ran his hands over his face and tried to pull himself together.

He was just exhausted, that was all. Exhausted and incredibly sleep deprived. John had really been in no state to make a decision like _sleeping with his fucking best mate_ and maybe he could convince himself if he were in a healthier state he wouldn't have made the same decision.

But...deep down he knew he would have.

Because he enjoyed it, he really did. And as guilty as he felt to admit it, being with Sherlock really did feel right. He knew it wasn't right to feel that way, but he couldn't help how he felt.

He just didn't know how he'd ever justify the relationship to himself. He didn't know how he could ever not feel guilty about this.

His daughter’s crying became louder, as though she could sense she was nearby and was reminding him that she really needed him _right now!_ Shaking his head, John wiped away his final tears and reminded himself that he wasn't the priority right now. He closed his eyes and drew in a shaky breath, holding it for a long moment before letting it out. All he could do was stay calm, not make any more rash decisions, and be there for his daughter.

And somehow, hope things would still be okay between he and his best mate in the morning.

He ran his hands through his hair and made his way to the nursery, trying to mentally prepare himself for the long night ahead.

 _Everything's going to be okay,_ he told himself, _somehow everything will work out._

But as he thought of Sherlock laying naked on his bed and remembered how his friend had held him all through Mary's funeral, he doubted that would be true.

Everything was just too fucked up.

**Author's Note:**

> So?!!!! I'd love to know what you thought! I know the ending is a bit abrupt...and depressing...but again it's meant to be a prequel to Fate Steps In, which picks up directly after this scene. If you haven't read it you can read it here http://archiveofourown.org/works/1417668
> 
> Thank you for reading, and for those who have been following the Amelia series I'm glad you continue to enjoy these stories! I'll have to follow this up with a happier fic...maybe a first date? Any prompts/ideas?


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